


dress code

by Rosse



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, PWP, clubsmut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 16:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8496598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosse/pseuds/Rosse
Summary: "Faith likes the way Kate grabs her by the wrist and tugs her towards the ladies' toilets, likes the way ice pokes into Kate's growled words. (This is gonna be fun-)"
Pointless smut for a friend yolo.





	

It's that dress.

The one that cinches in _just so_ and skims Faith's thighs just a bit too high to be entirely innocent or thoughtlessly picked. That smile shifts just a little too close to a smirk when Faith sees Kate's eyes dragging themselves away from the swing of fabric, blossoms into a stifled giggle when she watches Kate saunter (and who knew the Kat did _that_ ) up to the boy trying to dance with her and asks him to get them both a drink.

"C'mon." Really, the boy wasn't ever going to get anywhere - too young to be considered - but Faith likes the way Kate grabs her by the wrist and tugs her towards the ladies' toilets, likes the way ice pokes into Kate's growled words. (This is gonna be _fun_ -)

"But I want my free drink," she teases, laughing and letting Kate lead them through the crowd of intoxicated women, through the cloud of layers of perfumes and hairspray and the sizzle of hair being burned by straighteners, into a cubicle. No one blinks or cares, too tangled in their own appearances and gossip to notice anything beyond that, to notice the rattle of the cubicle door when Faith's pushed against one of the flimsy dividing walls or the gasp she lets out when Kate marks her collarbone with lipstick.

(Kate loves when Faith wears heels, when she's tall and almost elegant and her neck is in easy reach-) It isn't about sweet words or gentle touches, it's about hands that push fabric up to her hips and the way Kate's kisses add the nip of teeth when her fingers sneak between Faith's legs and find nothing but bare skin. The pulse of increasing heart-rates and the flush of heat that blooms across chest and cheek when Kate teases, brushes fingertips feather-light against her clit. A breathless song that melts into the background of the bassline thumping through the floor and walls; Faith's hands wrapping around Kate's waist and pulling her closer, Kate's free hand wrapping tight in her red hair and dragging her down for a kiss that is all heated breath and steam.

(What do you expect when fire and ice get together?)

Faith's hands are birdclaws, clutching the fabric of Kate's top like she's prey to be carried to the nest but Kate is a tiger more than a cat when she gets like this, all superhuman strength and trained muscle, and Faith's claws may as well be trying to uproot trees as old as the forests beyond the city when they cling to her. There's nothing more than the veil of Kate's hair, pink and bright under fluorescent lighting, and the sensation of fingers curling inside of her until-

until until.

Whatever noise Faith makes is hidden under a new song, a blaring trumpet intro and the din of ten different friend groups screaming about this being _their jam_ , and she leans heavy against the cubicle wall, muscles and claws shaking loose into something boneless and fluid, Kate still pressed against her, her laughter a thing that's sensed, felt, more than heard when she pulls back, pulls out, brings her fingers up to Faith's lips to be cleaned. Gentle, lazy touches and that hand in her hair stroking rather than pulling. They're silent beyond their breaths, quiet and slow for the duration of a song that is anything but and in the brief seconds of whispersoft music linking outro and new intro, Kate pulls back and runs her thumb across Faith's lower lip.

"Your lipstick smudged."


End file.
